On Hearing Them Poem by James McLain

Are we not so very, as my pants fall down,
you laugh, I'm choking, looking joking really cool.
Fingers moving swiftly covered mimes.
Glazed plastic monkey, major, minor bees.
Listening to them often can't one speak?
I know I am no longer one of them, I can.
Were they ever, moving me up and down
the road more gently and when they come not really.
Lips that always open move, I can not learn to read.
Mouths that drink but can not become, I think.
Leaving now for college to because,
like they once always back then, they always were.